


Posing As Parkinson

by potionseagle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, F/M, Forced Marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potionseagle/pseuds/potionseagle
Summary: To save herself, Hermione uses a dark curse to assume the dead Pansy Parkinson's appearance, taking part of the departed Slytherin's soul with her. Now, she must navigate the aftermath of the war that Voldemort has won, including an arranged marriage with her former nemesis, Draco Malfoy.





	1. The Ritual

Hermione trembled above the lifeless, still-warm body of Pansy Parkinson.

The witch had spent too many of her days in the remote parts of the English countryside reading about dark curses to prepare herself against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and to learn more about the man himself. She never thought she would be considering using one of them. Especially this one.

She tentatively reached forward, combing the dark hair in front of the young girl's face. Although they were never friends in school and were on opposite sides of the war, Hermione felt nearly broken when she came across her dead form. Almost everyone she knew had died, and the addition of anyone else to that list was cause for heartache, not celebration. Especially when the death counts didn't matter anymore since everyone had stopped counting.

The war was over. It had ended sometime that night—there had been no sun since the last skirmish, but Hermione couldn't say with certainty how many hours had passed. What she did know was that she was running out of time. Soon they would capture her, and torture her endlessly or kill her. Every key member of the Order, every Weasley, and nearly ever Gryffindor was dead. She knew that for a certainty. As for the rest, it was unclear. But there wasn't enough to fight back. Not tonight, anyway.

She remembered the particular curse that was on her mind not because she had planned to use it, or believed it would ever be used against her, but because she found it so disturbing. It could swap the appearances of two people— _permanently_ —but some of the each other's soul would intermingle with the other. It didn't say how much; she doubted it had exactly been measured. But it sounded like less than half, but enough to notice.

Could she live with having a small part of Pansy Parkinson within her? And with losing part of herself? But another voice in her mind asked: could she live if she  _didn't_ do this? There was nowhere to hide. The anti-apparition wards were up; her beaded bag was long gone; and the forest was largely burned from several uncontrolled Fiendfyre curses. She was a sitting duck.

Hermione swallowed, struggling to remember how to perform the curse. She would not give up; she would not be killed or captured. This was not the end for Hermione Granger, even if it was some sort of end for Hermione Granger as she existed right now.

Hermione wasn't even sure if it would work. The book had two documented cases of performing the ritual with the dead—but each body had been dead under an hour. She had no idea how long Pansy had been laying there.

Again, Hermione reminded herself that this was her last option. Tears forming at her eyes, she used a slicing hex on her forearm, and then performed the same action on Pansy.  _You're desecrating a dead body_ , a panicked voice in the back of her head nagged at her.

She began to chant quietly in Latin, grateful for learning the dead language long before she had attended Hogwarts. It took all of her strength to keep her voice steady as she felt what could only be described as a violent pull on her person despite the fact that she was perfectly still.

Toward the end of the curse, she felt a violation—something moved inside her that should not have been there as surely as if it were solid. She felt bile rise up in her throat, but she ignored it, continuing to chant.

As she finished, she broke down, sobbing over a dead body that was now a reflection of herself—or rather, her former self.

Her practical side forced her to continue, however, as she healed the wounds from the slicing hexes. She couldn't be too careful; someone might suspect her crime.

Hermione continued to cry, leaning against a tree branch to distance herself from her vile act, but unable to leave the scene completely. Something tethered her there, and it was a strange comfort to be near herself when she kept looking down and feeling shocked by her newly pale skin, the straight dark hair occasionally falling into her vision, and her slender frame.

She heard footsteps but didn't dare look up.

"It's Potter's Mudblood," she heard someone exclaim, the voice wild with glee and reverence. It could have only belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange.

Bellatrix kneeled over her body, curls intertangling with curls, while Hermione sat silently, unable to speak. Bellatrix threw her head back and cackled. As she did so, she finally noticed Hermione sitting there.

"You're the Parkinson girl, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded numbly.

"Did you kill the Mudblood?"

Hermione hadn't thought about that; and what of the person who had killed Pansy? She brushed the thought aside; she could worry about that later. Besides, that person was likely dead themselves.

Hermione nodded slowly, deciding taking credit would be the best option.

Bellatrix closed in on her and stroked her face. Hermione struggled not to scream; her touch and proximity reminded her too much of the woman in front of her torturing her at the Manor, but there was another sense of warm familiarity that Hermione realized must have been coming from Pansy.

"Such a good girl," Bellatrix cooed. "Our Lord will be pleased with you. Come, let's get you cleaned up. You will celebrate with us at dawn."

Hermione allowed herself to be dragged, trying to keep her crying quiet as she moved through the destroyed forest.


	2. Sensation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for your patience! I've been on a bit of an unplanned hiatus on all my stories these last couple months but I am getting into writing again and am not planning on disappearing. Hope you enjoy this second installment.

Walking in her new body was like an extreme version of waking up a limb that was asleep. Each step was sluggish, as though her new feet were unaccustomed to taking orders from her and had to process what should be automatic.

Each step felt _wrong_. Her balance was affected because her admittedly bad habit of putting too much weight on her big toe was more than an annoying bad habit; Pansy's toes just wouldn't support it, causing her to topple forward.

Her new straight hair that she always wanted didn't feel like her curly hair with Sleekeazy's in it; it was slippery and wouldn't stay behind her ear, continually falling into her face and flooding her vision with an aggressive reminder that this was not hers; _that she had stolen this_. Hermione didn't need the reminder.

The walk behind her previous tormentor felt like hours. Her grasp of time was flimsy enough that she could not estimate how long it took in reality, or how far she had been from Voldemort's encampment.

At one point, Bellatrix turned around and grabbed Hermione by the shoulders. The madwoman met her face to face, just inches away so that Hermione's vision was flooded by those wide, green eyes.

"I can hear you bumbling about behind me."

Hermione couldn't help but swallow thickly. _Please don't say I altered my soul only to be killed by Bellatrix Lestrange_.

"You're dizzy, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded numbly.

"Your magic feels different. You're practically _humming_ ," Bellatrix seemed excited by this, and Hermione didn't know what it meant that she was humming. And hadn't Bellatrix just struggled to recognize her? How would she know if her magic were different?

"Dark witches recognize each other, don't they, girl?"

Hermione nodded numbly but Bellatrix was still staring intently so Hermione managed to choke out, "I am honored to be noticed by you." She felt like she should add "your Lady" or something but didn't want to say the wrong thing, so she just trailed off instead. Her voice sounded scratchy, and more high-pitched than she was used to. Hermione had thought Pansy's whiny high-pitched voice was an affectation, but if anything, it seemed she had learned to counteract it, because it sounded the same to Hermione's ears, and she knew that voices always sounded deeper to the person speaking. Hermione tried to remember why, but she could only remember something about vibrations. _I must be really exhausted_ , she thought dismally. And then, in a panic, she thought, _I hope I'm not dumber now!_

Hermione didn't have too much time to contemplate any effects on her intelligence because Bellatrix began talking as they resumed walking. "You were just a speck, an insignificant thing, but I can _feel_ your dark magic pulsating around you. It's _thrilling_." Bellatrix was grinning now. Hermione managed a smug smile in response, but inside was panicking. Bellatrix must just be making this up because she thought Hermione had killed, well, her, but she wasn't _really_ a darker witch than Pansy.

Was she?

"How did it feel to kill the Mudblood, to have her life in your hand and crushing it?"

Hermione tried not to tremble. She was terrified of lying to Bellatrix, so she mentally scanned her memories to think of something she had done not out of survival, but of spite, and her thoughts landed on keeping Rita Skeeter in the jar. How did it feel? She had tried not to think about it too much, but now she forced herself to feel those feelings again, and somehow the memory seemed altered, infused with more glee than she had felt at the time.

No matter what image she conjured, though, she didn't know what it felt to take a life, and didn't want to risk pretending to someone as familiar with dark magic as Bellatrix. Not only had the witch performed countless dark acts, but she _reveled_ in them, as Hermione knew from firsthand experience.

"Killing her was _cathartic_ , almost," Hermione said, trying to keep it brief but injected as much pride as she could in her description, "the knowledge that I'll never have to see that filthy mudblood again." Bellatrix seemed dissatisfied with her response, so Hermione pressed on. "But the best part was the _torture_." Bellatrix's eyes widened and lit up again. Hermione suppressed the strong feeling that she was going to be sick.

"Not being able to finish off that mudblood was one of the worst parts of this war. She was such a fun plaything," Bellatrix giggled, and the noise sent chills down Hermione's spine.

"I apologize if I should have left her to you," Hermione quickly replied, fear rising.

Bellatrix wrapped an arm around her, which only made Hermione's heart beat faster. Annoyingly, this new heart seemed more reactive to her surroundings than her old one. Pansy had given her the gift of heightened anxiety. Hermione wished she could say that it was Pansy's last fuck-you to her old enemy, but she didn't doubt that more were coming.

"Scum are scum," Bellatrix replied venomously, "even Potter's mudblood was no one worth special treatment. You were right to finish her off. But because you did get the fun of it, you can tell me about what it felt like to torture her."

Her thoughts flitted back to Rita again. "Knowing that I had the woman who had tormented me for so long—who dared to think she was _better_ than me—completely at my mercy. It was thrilling. The power, the knowledge that one flick of my hand and she would be _dust_. I loved watching her suffer."

Hermione's words, tumbling out so easily, scared herself, but they satisfied Bellatrix, who gripped her tighter as her eyes popped out in excitement.

"The Dark Lord will be _so pleased_."


	3. Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To all my readers—apologies for the unplanned six-month hiatus. To make a long story short, I've been suffering from health problems that have made it difficult to write, but I'm slowly recovering. Thank you to everyone who continues to read. I'm behind responding to reviews as well, but I'll be catching up soon. :)

Bellatrix's arm was still wrapped around Hermione several minutes later, her long fingernails digging into Hermione's now bony left shoulder. Hermione could feel the pulsing, erratic dark magic that came off the older woman in waves. The feeling was making Hermione lightheaded—or perhaps it was the several hours that separated her from her last meal. Either way, she kept her eyes trained on the ground as Bellatrix led her through, focusing intently on the simple act of walking.

Because she lacked the capacity to pay attention to her surroundings while staying upright, she fell clean over when Bellatrix suddenly let go, simpering "my Lord, my triumphant Lord."

Hermione attempted to make her fall look intentional by placing her hands more neatly in front of her and bowing her head, debating internally whether she should acknowledge Voldemort and deciding on no. It was much riskier to do so and besides, she was unsure if she could handle it.

Hermione bit her lip nervously as she held her pose, continuing to hear Bellatrix praising Voldemort and Voldemort coolly responding with a few iterations of "thank you, Bellatrix, that will be all." But even in his irritation there was a joy behind his voice that it had lacked during his demands several hours earlier, asking Harry to present himself.

_I can't think about that right now_ , she chanted like a mantra, closing her eyes hard as though it could block out thoughts of her now deceased best friend. Instead, she saw his worn face and bright green eyes stare back at her as though they were imprinted on the back of her eyelids.

Suddenly, she felt someone jerk back the curtain of hair falling to her left.

"Pansy…" A voice choked out. Hermione struggled to recognize it. Deciding it was not worth the effort, she turned her head to the left while keeping it bowed and saw the unusually wide-eyed face of Blaise Zabini.

"Blaise," she shot back tentatively.

He didn't move, didn't speak, just continued to stare while slowly shaking his head.

And although her head swam slightly, she caught on. Without thinking or weighing her options, a method of reaction that she was wholly unaccustomed to, Hermione lunged forward and knocked Blaise over, pinning him and taking his wand.

But Blaise's next words simultaneously confirmed her split-second decision and answered her previous question of who had killed Pansy Parkinson. "Pansy, I wasn't myself; I don't know what I was doing."

"So it wasn't you who attempted to use two words to end a Parkinson?" Hermione demanded, her heart beating out of her chest as she hoped that she was reading this situation right.

Hermione roughly pulled his hair, surprised at her own boldness—with a sinking heart, she wondered if it was her own, but she pushed the thought aside. She needed to focus; this was a critical moment that might decide her fate.

"I don't understand what happened," Blaise mumbled, more to himself than to her, his eyes darting around frantically as though looking for a savior, but Bellatrix and Voldemort's voices were far away, mixed with several others that Hermione could not recognize.

"Ms. Parkinson, dear," a silken voice cut through the tension. Hermione swallowed hard, fear building inside her as she recognized the voice of Lucius Malfoy. _There's no need to be afraid anymore_ , Hermione tried to reason with herself, but had to hold back a wince as he continued speaking. "Why are you not celebrating our triumphs?"

She looked up at the elder Malfoy, willing her voice not to shake as it came out high but clear, "Blaise attempted to kill me earlier. Apparently, he never learned the lesson that you have to _mean it_."

Hermione glanced back at the boy underneath her as she emphasized her last two words to catch his reaction. His face confirmed everything; he had tried to kill her— _actually, he succeeded,_ Hermione corrected herself—but why?

"That is a serious accusation, Ms. Parkinson. How do you respond, Mr. Zabini?"

Blaise was shaking his head furiously, although it was unclear if that was in response to Lucius's question or in an attempt to wrench himself free of Hermione's crushing grasp on his hair.

Hermione shoved her knee into his throat as she felt his Adam's apple bobbing underneath her knobby knee. "Please, Pansy, I can't—"

But Blaise's begging abruptly stopped as Hermione was levitated up and back, her head slamming against what was left of a tree before her eyes began to fill with black dots first, more colorful dots next, making out the laughing form of Bellatrix Lestrange before she could no longer prevent herself from succumbing to the darkness, catching Harry's face again as she drifted out of consciousness.


End file.
